


The Other Side of Anger

by Midorisakura (Calacious)



Series: Ho oku i [9]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Aftermath of a Case, Community: trope_bingo, Fluff and Angst, Hugs, M/M, Songfic, death of a child - original character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 15:30:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2552552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calacious/pseuds/Midorisakura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny's having a hard time dealing with the aftermath of a case that didn't end well. Steve's a rock, and a teddy bear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Other Side of Anger

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song, "The Other Side," by Jason Derulo. I have no idea why this turned out so angsty. I wanted to write fluff, but Miss Angst apparently decided to take over the writing today. She's sneaky. Like a ninja with deadly nun-chucks. And I've let my imagination run away with me again.
> 
> Repetition and fragmented sentences are used liberally, and on purpose. 
> 
> Feedback please, and thank you.

Getting drunk seems like a real good idea, even though he knows that it's not. Knows that getting drunk won't fix a damn thing.

Won't fix him.

Won't fix Steve.

Won't bring back the dead, or even unearth them.

No, drinking won't fix anything, but it'll make him numb, help him forget for a little while.

It won't make him unsee what he'd seen.

Won't make him quicker.

Won't make the bad guy any slower.

Won't turn back time, though he wishes that it would.

_One beer would take him back an hour, a six pack a half a day, twelve, well, that would give him an entire day back._

He laughs at the thought.

It's a bitter, broken sound, and Danny refuses to meet Steve's eyes, knowing what the other man is thinking, that this has something to do with that dark time in his life.

It has _nothing_ to do with any of that.

He's moved on from that.

_They've_ moved on from that.

No, this wish to turn back time through drinking has everything to do with the case they've just put to bed.

"C'mon, Danny, let's go home." Steve's voice is soft, tender, and Danny wants to haul off and punch him, because he's angry, and there's nowhere, no one else, for him to pour all of his anger into.

No one.

That bastard, the one who'd taken and carved up that little girl – she was only a year older than Grace – was dead.

Deader than a fucking doornail.

Deader than his Great Uncle Louie, who'd been dead for decades now. And where the fuck was this train of thought even going?

"Danny?" Steve's wearing this face that means that he's worried, he cares, he understands, and Danny just doesn't want any of that right now.

Maybe later, after his blood's done boiling, and he's got his own inner Mount Vesuvius under control, and he's had a drink or half a dozen. Just to give him some perspective, to take his mind off of the broken body of that beautiful little girl.

He wants to resurrect the dead so that he can kill the dead. Over and over again. And when his anger's spent, he wants to drink to bring that little girl back to life, return her to her parents, take her mother's pain away, remove the guilt from her father's heart.

He's been there.

He knows what it's like.

That guilt that eats you up inside, because you know that you've not done enough, that you've failed your child.

Your daughter.

Your precious little girl who looks up to you.

Your monkey.

"Danny, it's – "

The blood rushes in his ears, and his heart's pounding so hard that he's afraid he's going to have a heart attack. And wouldn't that be perfect right now?

He stops listening.

Doesn't hear whatever it is that Steve's saying, because he can't.

His heart hurts, and his mind is replaying the case, start to finish, all of the mistakes that he made, the things which led to him and Steve finding the little girl.

Dead.

Body broken.

Eyes open and unseeing – milky blue, flies crawling around the dried out orbs. Maggots dining on her spilled insides. Thin body surrounded by blood, tacky and smelling like so many copper pennies, baking in the sun.

Death smells sweet, but it isn't. There's nothing sweet about any of this.

"...there was nothing we could do. We did everything we could, Danny," Steve's still talking when Danny tunes back in, and he can't take it anymore, because he's not going to accept any of that as answer.

Someone has to pay.

Someone has to answer for this, and that someone is currently lying on a slab in the morgue, the back of his head missing, his forehead sporting an ugly black hole that Danny had imagined smoked when the bullet went in.

"No," Danny whispers, and he shakes his head because Steve's eyes are filled with something that isn't, but is close enough to pity.

Before he even realizes he's doing it, he's got his hand balled into a fist and is swinging, aiming for Steve's chin, like he'd done when they'd first met.

He wants to bring the man down, though he knows he's being irrational, that it's not Steve's fault that all of this went down the way that it did. That Steve's not responsible for the little girl's death.

The man responsible for it all is never going to pay for his crime the way that he should – with pain and torment, and begging that falls on deaf ears.

That's what makes Danny take a swing at Steve, and he's putting everything behind this punch. All of his pent up anger, the blind, mind-numbing fear, because that little girl was just a year older than Grace.

Just a year.

Not much else had separated the two.

Both went to private schools, though little Gloria's family had to scrimp and save and apply for scholarships to send her to a school of their choosing.

And there's the anger and shame that he feels toward himself, packed into the punch. Remnants of the past that isn't as buried as it needs to be.

Steve catches him by the wrist though, stops his fist before it can connect with his face, and pulls Danny forward, using Danny's own momentum against him. It isn't fair that Steve's taller, and, in this moment, a little stronger.

It isn't fair and Danny mumbles that against a chest that's hard as a rock, and yet yielding as a teddy bear.

The sound of Steve's heart, steady, strong, pounds in Danny's ear, drowns out the frenetic beating of his own heart, reminds him that he's not alone. That Steve's there. Will never leave him, even though he's left Steve.

"I'm sorry," Steve says, and his voice breaks. His arms swallow Danny; turn the intended violence into an act of love. He holds Danny close as though their lives depend on it and just hugs him.

Danny's trembling, and he doesn't want this, wants to hit someone, something, anything. Wants to walk into the morgue and beat a dead man, though it isn't rational. What had happened wasn't rational.

"Not your fault, Danny," Steve murmurs. "Not yours or mine. Not Kono's or Chin's."

"He deserved to suffer," Danny says, lips moving against Steve's ridiculously tight tee-shirt.

"I know," Steve says, fingers kneading the tight muscles in Danny's back.

Knots that have taken up residence in his shoulders and neck finally give way beneath the authority of Steve's fingers, and Danny lets them. Takes a deep breath, lets it out, and digs his own fingers into the back of Steve's shirt, holds onto the man he loves, because he loves him, and Steve is a fucking rock, and Danny needs him more than he can articulate. And isn't that a kick in the pants? But, then, Steve does drive him to distraction, and, at times, leaves him speechless.

"We okay now?" Steve asks, and though Danny's blood's still boiling, just a little, and he's not going to be fine with any of this for awhile, Danny nods.

He no longer wants to kill a dead man, no longer wants to take a swing at Steve. He does; however, want to call Grace. Assure himself that his little Monkey's alive and well, though he knows that, again, he's being irrational.

Before he can even voice his need, his phone's being pressed into his hand, and Steve steps back enough to allow Danny to make the call that he needs to, though not far enough away so that Danny's out of his reach. He keeps a hand on Danny's back, and Danny keeps one hand fisted in Steve's shirt.

"Danno?" his little girl's voice is a balm to his heart, and Danny smiles for the first time in weeks. Seeing it, Steve smiles too.

He's nowhere near okay yet, but he's well on his way.

* * *


End file.
